


Tripping The Wire

by levitatethis



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-29
Updated: 2011-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby has no idea what to think or feel about Chris' return to Em City following his near death fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tripping The Wire

_“The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out_  
You left me in the dark  
No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight  
In the shadow of your heart”  
 **-Florence and The Machine, 'Cosmic Love'**  


Amnesia.

 _Jesus Christ_ , Toby thinks as he loosens his grip on the chair’s armrests and clasps his hands together in his lap. He wants to snort disbelief and frustrated irritation. He’d like to start ranting about the Shakespearian gall of it all, but feels the heavy expectation of such a reaction in Sister Pete and McManus’ stern gazes. Instead he chooses a muted, “Amnesia? Meaning…”

Sister Pete sighs and he bites his tongue down on a rude quip to save the melodramatics. He stares at her small form perched on the edge of her desk, both hands covering her mouth as if she’s praying.

_Don’t bother. No one’s getting saved today._

“He remembers everything up to being sentenced and then the bus ride to Oz, but nothing afterwards,” she explains, her eyes desperately searching his, peering at what’s left of his mutilated soul.

“Of course,” Toby mutters with a crude laugh. “Keller deliberately leaps to his death in some misguided and selfish act of sacrifice, with consequences far too numerous to name, and now he doesn’t even have to give a shit about any of it.”

Sister Pete drops her hands. “It’s a bit more complicated—,”

“Don’t talk to me about complicated, Sister.”

McManus, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the wall, clears his throat. “He’ll be back in a week.”

Toby raises an eyebrow.

“I’m putting him in with O’Reily,” McManus states matter-of-factly.

“Need I even ask?” Toby stands up.

“Tobias,” Sister Pete calls out.

He raises his right palm to her. “It is what it is. I can make as much sense of it as you.”

“If there are any problems, Quearns will come down on everyone,” McManus says.

Toby ignores him and opens the office door, avoiding the staring hack. For a moment he hesitates. Sucking in a slow, deep breath he makes his way down the hallway.

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
He sees Chris falling, over and over again. One moment, a handful of seconds, loops on an invisible noose around Toby’s neck.

Then it was Chris awkwardly splayed out on the quad floor and Officer Murphy pulling at Toby, stopping him from (unintentionally?) launching himself over the railing as well.

Desperate lovers—heartbroken and irrational.

Even in sleep Chris occupies Toby’s space, nudging him this way and that, never giving him any breathing room. Toby meticulously remembers every time Chris staked a claim on his soul, his body. He recalls the glint in Chris’ eye as the walls closed in, trying to trap Toby and doing a pretty good job of it.

The truth that turned out to be a lie that turned out to be the truth. The snake eating its tail.

In return Toby clawed back, struck hard, drew blood to escape the looming shadow…and bask in it. A kaleidoscope of confliction. To love, to hate. To love to hate. To hate to love. On any given day the emphasis changed, altered the story, redrew defining lines.

Chris sentenced him to forever, give or take a day and the surprising willingness of certain respectable persons to vouch for him. It brought him solitude, a pod to himself, most others mindful of the man who killed Schillinger and almost killed his enemy and part time lover, Keller. People saw what they were told to see and there was nothing like drinking the Kool-Aid.

Toby looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t see “Tobias,” the man who walked into Oz or “Toby,” the man who came to live there for the bulk of an unforgiving sentence. He sees Beecher, calm and quiet on the outside, raging on the inside. He sees the man who was loved beyond reason and the one set up to face the blame without recourse.

He sees the man left behind.

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
The rumour mill is running wild well before Christopher Keller walks through the gates and into Em City, raised from the dead with a post-Oz slate conscience wiped clean. A conscience is for suckers.

His movement is stilted enough to remind everyone that, yes, this is the same man who somehow beat the medical odds and gave fate the finger. Still, there’s an unmistakable saunter to his steps and the way he takes in his surroundings with a hint of amusement serves as a warning that, dead or alive, this is also the man who has already manipulated, wheeled and dealed, and maimed his way through a segment of the prison population.

In a nutshell, the blazing sign above him flashes, _‘Take a good look, but don’t think about touching.’_

Toby does as told (as if he ever really had a choice in the matter), watching from the second landing perch, hands gripping the railing ( _funny meeting you here again_ ), trying to determine the similarities and differences in the make up of the man below. O’Reily, to his left, tenses. Cyril’s execution may have made him more wary in grief but he remains a survivalist first and foremost.

The televisions hum in the distance and hushed whispers trail along, but all eyes are on Chris as Murphy leads him up the stairs to O’Reily’s pod.

It’s a comedy of misdirection. Murphy eyes Toby who closely watches Chris who seems far more interested in his new home. O’Reily mutters a tired and cautious, “Okay then,” and slowly steps forward to greet his new podmate.

Toby is mindful enough to hang back, despite the urge to push into Chris’ space, hold him in a relentless, unblinking gaze and grab his shoulders in a bloodletting grip. He watches O’Reily and Chris play fake nice (until they inevitably fall back in their ‘thick as thieves’ pattern), leaving him on the outside of the pod looking in.

“Beecher,” Murphy says, though he may as well be miles away.

Toby’s ears are ringing with the sound of Chris’ strained voice (like his vocal chords are still in the process of figuring out whether to work or not) acknowledging O’Reily and the new digs (the voice which once threatened and loved, rolling over his body). Toby’s eyes note the slightly leaner build to Chris’ body, the result of irregular workouts (those same arms that once felt tight and comforting around his shoulders). He sees the surgical scar where Chris’ neck curves down to his shoulders (close to another scar Toby once kissed in a time of desperation) and the discerning twitch to Chris’ lips (which gave way to a bright smile once in a blue moon, usually when it was just them).

Toby’s anger builds then dissipates in a flash. His body makes the decision faster than his brain, but this head is catching up. Murphy catches his eye and knocks on the plexiglass. When O’Reily and Chris nod his way, Murphy turns to head back to the guard’s station.

Toby sneaks one last look at the pod then turns his attention back to the quad. His feelings are too raw and confused. He wants to cry for what was and what’s been lost. He’d like to rip Chris’ head off and pull him close into a bear hug. He wants Chris to smile that knowing, shit eating grin.

How do years of love disappear into thin air? What are memories if only one person has them to keep? What good are they when they only serve to act as a punishment? It’s not fair, but who ever said it would be?

Toby has no idea what he wants. All he does know is that Chris ‘new lease on life’ Keller never looks at him once.

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
It’s disorienting being the third point. Just outside of where he once stood, Toby treads new ground. O’Reily and Chris have become a fixed point of mutually beneficial allies in crime. In a way Chris’ resurrection seems to breathe new life into O’Reily. At the very least it’s provided a sorely needed distraction, removing the bullseye from his back while dismissively waving off pitying eyes. Once again “the luck of the Irish” puts a kick in his step. It’s good for O’Reily, if troublesome for the other prisoners. Part of Toby is thankful Chris has someone he can trust (as much as that’s possible in society’s underbelly).

Toby, by proxy, is accepted into their fold. Although card games, and watching tv mostly consist of O’Reily and Chris shooting the shit, Toby (all the time half-distracted) offers offhand remarks. The fact is he can’t get a read on Chris except to guess he’s okay with Toby’s presence because O’Reily is and because he’s vaguely impressed at the rumour Toby killed Schillinger, nemesis to both of them at different times in their lives.

There’s a stark reminder in there that in the outside world Toby and Chris would only have crossed paths as mark and predator. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Chris thinks Toby being an ex-lawyer is a joke and he busts Toby’s chops any chance he gets at the beginning—certainly enough to make O’Reily laugh while shooting Toby a veiled look of concerned; certainly enough to piss Toby off—but then a hint of curiosity is revealed in the remarks and the questions posed. Toby tells himself that this version of Chris is meeting the hard done by Toby, the one left standing in the wake of an epic battle. The first time around, they met in the middle.

Without _their_ history, however, there’s no case to be made for the alternative.

It’s a decision then (misguided though it may be) to not sit Chris down and fill in all the blanks of what he can’t remember. There’s too many ways it could go and no one, let alone Toby, feels ready to risk it. That isn’t to say people don’t talk, but there’s a difference between verified fact and overheard gossip. Facts, then, are kept to the more general of topics. The personal is a firestorm not to be touched.

If Toby’s uncertain about the unfolding events, he isn’t the only one. Oz tries to keep its balance while the unknowable variable remains in place. It explains why Chris nearly gets jumped by some brain dead asshole in the gym when O’Reily is off for a visit with Suzanne. An educated guess suggests there are those who regard Chris as a potentially easy target, but a viable one as well—meaning he’s seen as possibly being easy to take down, but with a high payoff considering his previous reputation.

Either way it’s a dumbass move. Chris may be different, but the fighter remains. So does the one in Toby (who happens to be in the gym working out his own aggressions). The fight, starting with an idiot homeboy named Darnel and Chris, turns into a mini brawl. Toby gets in a well timed headbutt (a split second of pleasure spikes his body at the sound of a nose breaking) and by the time the guards do their damn jobs it’s clear Toby and Chris—apart and divided—are still a force to be reckoned with.

“I owe you one,” Chris says to him (a hint of surprise at the more than capable show of prowess from Toby) as the mess is being cleared up.

Toby stares at him. Another time and place whispers déjà vu in his ear. He wants to wipe the blood and sweat from Chris’ face, wants to not be this person for whom violence comes easily, wants to laugh and shake Chris’ hand. But there’s a code now, one with strange and precarious rules.

“I didn’t do it for you, man,” Toby replies indifferently. “I hate that fuck. Besides, I owe O’Reily one.”

Chris wrinkles his brow and a question hidden in his features remains unasked. A sudden bout of nervousness twists Toby’s stomach. He looks away, then back, and points to Chris’ head. “You’re bleeding.”

Chris touches his hand to the wound and inspects the blood which ends up coating his fingers. Shrugging, he says, “Just a flesh wound. Comes with the territory.” Scrunching up the bottom of his white wife beater, he pulls it halfway up his torso and dabs at the wound.

Toby allows himself a quick glance at Chris’ bared chest and thrusts his hands in his pant pockets to keep himself from reaching out.

Chris cocks his head to the side. “Didn’t know you had skills like that.”

Toby gives him a half smile. “It’s Oz. It comes with the territory.”

  
************ ********** ********* ********** ************

  
Sister Pete is intent on stripping away the layers of his protective subconscious. Toby considers a pre-emptive warning that there may be nothing below but a gaping black hole. Despite his reservation he finds working in her office offers a certain reprieve from the world. At the very least he finds it easier to breathe in her presence.

When he first returned to Oz, bitter and half-defeated, she welcomed him back as her assistant with a disappointed shake of her head. A few tense ‘confessionals’ and they settled into a comfortable work routine, the ‘Keller Question’ purposely ignored. Now with Chris back, her worried yet caustic stare burns. It’s a fact made all the more urgent since she’s begun one-on-one sessions with Chris to ascertain his re-introduction. Toby’s playing ignorant only prolongs the inevitable.

“You’re very quiet today, Tobias.”

He pauses then turns away from the computer. “Don’t have much to say.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that.”

He regards her thoughtfully as she watches—analyzes—him and reconsiders his response. “If I tell you what you’re thinking, you’ll tell me what’s on my mind?”

She smiles. He drops his gaze to his lap then back to her.

“I think you’re in limbo.”

Toby looks at her questioningly.

She sighs. “Chris’ amnesia is a chance to be free of him and all those expectations the two of you became wrapped in. He’s not watching your every move. You’ve been released.”

Toby’s chest tightens and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

She leans forward and rests her arms on the desk. “But you don’t know if you want that because you two, you were in love and now, with the snap of a finger, it’s gone. No one loves that strongly just to shrug it off. And you’re wondering that if he doesn’t love you now—or ever again—does it mean he never really did? The only thing that’s changed is the circumstances and yet it’s not playing out the same.”

“He was working a con,” Toby’s quick to say.

“And now he’s not, but you’re still hanging out quite a bit. Are you telling me a small part of you isn’t disappointed he’s not after you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. He’s let go.”

“He didn’t have a choice!”

“And you do, Tobias! Maybe this is the only way it could happen for the both of you, the only way it could be right again. His hand had to be forced so that you could finally make peace with that part of your past and _let_ go.”

Toby lolls his head back then hunches forward, resting his head on his hands. After a second he rubs his face and sits up straight. “While he was in the hospital I thought I’d worked through the last bits of anger, those last few pieces of _him_. I convinced myself of it. And now,” he laughs mockingly, half-heartedly, “the fucking rug gets pulled out from under me once again.”

He stares passed her and out the window at the teasing brightness of day. “I loved him so much and now he has no idea who I am.” Shaking his head, he meets her gaze. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t.” Sister Pete pushes back in her chair. “The question is, are you going to jump back into the fire?”

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
The ‘has been’ past and the ‘never will be again’ future melt together in his brain.

Lone nights in his pod trip memories into fantasies with no discerning line between the two. Figuring it’s safer in these confined walls, Toby gives in…again.

 _Chris pushes him up against the back wall of the pod, strokes Toby’s cock through his pants, deftly undoes the button and lowers the zipper, taking him in hand. Toby, panting consent against Chris’ shoulder, fingers Chris’ towel until it falls away and slides his hand around Chris’ straining length. They work steadily, slowly picking up speed, adjusting the pressure just right. Then Chris is swatting Toby’s hand away and taking them both in his fist. Toby buckles at the adjustment and Chris pins him harder to the wall. Wrapping his arms around Chris’ shoulders, Toby nuzzles his neck, licking and gasping, finally coming when Chris begins to grunt louder, both of them reduced to a perfectly content, wet mess_.

And again.

_That glint and wolfish grin; it makes Toby hard on the spot. But they’re not hurried. This is the flipside brilliance of them—fast and furious, slow and lingering; it’s precisely what they need. And though it starts with Toby bent over the table, bare ass in the air and Chris softly running his hand down Toby’s back (pressing wet kisses along the way), it turns into Chris sitting on the chair and Toby straddling him, sliding Chris’ hard dick into him. Languid strokes let them stare at each other, a world of want pooling in their eyes, unnecessary ‘I love you’s’ in expanding pupils while they kneed flushed skin._

_Then it’s a shift, a groan, a smirk, another (payback) shift, the hitch of breath and they’re off; rhythm is going, going and they’re will be bruises from holding on so tight. Toby throws his head back and Chris chases the angle of his neck, tonguing salty skin along the path up to Toby’s lips. Their kiss is deep with stolen breaths, and the comedown finds Chris burying his face in Toby’s chest and Toby kissing the crown of his head._

The issue isn’t that Toby can’t tell the difference between memories and fantasies. It’s that he no longer cares to. It doesn’t help that he’s been relegated to the sidelines watching Chris flirt his dangerous charm with others, looking for an angle to exploit or just to get his dick sucked. Frequent dalliances they aren’t but they’re enough to flame the ache in Toby’s heart.

It doesn’t help that he and Chris have been talking to each other (one-on-one) more often (now that O’Reily’s back to working in the kitchen and continuing his personal sessions with Mukada). The conversations are rather innocuous—Toby teaches Chris to play chess (again), sex jokes accompany viewings of Miss Sally’s new aerobics show, talking of the past (pre-Oz) is limited to juvenile con jobs and summer internships—but talking with Chris stokes the part of Toby which refuses to lie dormant.

It doesn’t help when Chris stands so close behind him in the cafeteria line that Toby can practically feel Chris’ chest rise and fall or when Chris affectionately squeezes his shoulder while he scoots by Toby in the laundry room.

Which is why Toby isn’t thinking clearly when Chris laughs at some stupid bid at sarcasm Toby’s quipped as he shuts the dryer’s lid. They’re looking at each other and for once it’s just two guys who genuinely like each other’s company and there’s no mistaking when Chris drops his gaze to Toby’s mouth a few times.

No, Toby’s not thinking straight, not when, _Oh God, I’ve fucking missed you,_ is spinning a tornado in his mind and propelling him forward, finally— _finally_ —kissing the man he loved and lost and got back.

It only takes a couple of seconds for the mistake to resonate. The single fisted chokehold around his neck is quick and tight. Toby opens his eyes wide and sees the scowl on Chris’ face, sees the seething anger in his eyes. The name _Tibbits_ flashes in Toby’s head and whether he ever believed that part of Chris’ alleged past or not doesn’t matter, not when Toby is the textbook victim two seconds away from getting his neck snapped.

Desperate for air, to apologize, to scream, _‘How can you not remember?!’_ Toby calmly attempts to band-aid the situation. First raising his arms at his side in a show of surrender, he gently wraps both hands around Chris’ forearm. Chris flinches, his lips pulling tight, and Toby (careful not to look away or appear confrontational) shifts his hold and tries to loosen the fist that’s squeezing his windpipe. The touch is familiar. Too familiar. Chris narrows his eyes inquisitively, but refuses to relinquish his hold. Toby keeps one hand over Chris’ and uses the other to take a firm grip of Chris’ shirt.

“Did I fucking say you could do that?” Chris snarls, learning in close.

Toby can’t respond.

“You think I haven’t heard the jokes about us behind my back?” Chris continues, his grip growing ever tighter (and now Toby thinks he _will_ die), then loosening just a bit. “You been talking shit?”

“No,” Toby croaks, thankful he can breath again.

“We fuck a couple of times before? You think it was something more?”

_No place to dump a body. I’m the one night stand that doesn’t go away. I’m messing up his game._

_But it was something more and if I tell him, if I can convince him of the truth, he’ll remember and…_

When Toby still can’t answer, Chris releases him with one hard shove. Toby touches his neck, feeling the sensitive skin and trying to sooth his damaged ego. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It was a mistake. I…made a mistake.”

For a second Chris looks unsure, conflicted, as if a seed of uncertainty is beginning to take root. He looks out the window into Em City and drops into a relaxed, casually aloof posture, starting to fold his laundry. “Yeah well, just this once.”

The door to the laundry room opens and O’Reily walks in, immediately picking up on the tension. Toby feels like a kid who hit a baseball into a neighbours window and everyone knows it but there’s no proof.

“How’s it hanging?” O’Reily asks tentatively, sizing up Chris then wrinkling his brow at Toby, silently asking, _‘What the fuck is going on?_ ’

Chris looks over his shoulder. “Nothing. _Beech_ and I were just talking.”

 _Beech_. The new nickname, too close to Beechball and Bitcher for Toby’s liking. O’Reily doesn’t look too pleased either.

“Oh yeah, what about?” O’Reily asks cautiously.

“The absence of God. The mindfuckery of the penal system. Whether we’ll have meatloaf or chicken fingers tomorrow,” Toby snaps.

Chris, expressionless, glances his way and O’Reily looks like he’s trying to figure out how to dismantle a bomb. Toby collects his laundry and gets out of the room as fast as his legs will carry him.

He refuses to look back.

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
“You like finding trouble?” O’Reily asks as he slides into the empty seat.

Toby looks up from his book. They both ignore the librarian shushing them from her desk.

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone could you?” O’Reily stares intently.

“What do you want, O’Reily?” Toby shuts his book in exasperation.

“I want to know why you’ve got Keller’s panties in a twist. Things were going okay.”

Toby looks at him expectantly.

O’Reily huffs a defeated breath and does a quick once over of the other stragglers in the library before scooting closer. “Everyone knows he’s been off since he got back.”

“You mean he’s been himself,” Toby points out, the clarification deemed necessary.

O’Reily regards him for a few seconds. “Yeah, Keller pre-you and your mixed up shit. Which, it turns out, is weirder than I thought. But then he starts asking about you—,”

“When?”

“Before you decided to lay a big fat one on him!”

Toby narrows his eyes and leans into O’Reily’s space, pushing his book away in the process. Slowly, he asks, “What did he say?”

“Calm down, Beecher. He doesn’t remember anything. He was just wondering what your deal is.”

“To which you replied?”

O’Reily makes a show of repeating Toby’s question then fixes him with a ‘cut the bullshit gaze.’ “I said you’re a recovering addict who destroyed your own life spectacularly…and that you turned out to be a lot tougher in this place than anyone gave you credit for at first…with a touch of crazy.”

O’Reily leans back. “I also told him the two of you had struck a deal to watch each others backs, so-to-speak.”

“Well I guess that’s one way of putting it.” Toby rolls his eyes.

“Look man, it’s up to you if you want to share the sordid details of your guys…relationship. My issue is being stuck with him yammering about you and you suddenly acting like you need a ten foot protective radius away from him. Can’t I have one fucking second of peace?”

At that moment it strikes Toby that O’Reily’s prying worry is as much out of genuine curiosity (with a pinch of concern) as it is out of outright selfishness. Without Toby in the mix, O’Reily is the only sounding board for Chris, and this version of Chris is potentially more troublesome than the one who had Toby in his sights. At least the old Chris had an element of predictability (as irritating as it was for Toby) which O’Reily could maneuver around. And for all of O’Reily’s rebukes of their relationship, it was a rarity in Oz that manage to induce a certain (flabbergasted) awe—for the possibility it implied. Add in the fact that there’s a festering wound where Cyril once was and O’Reily’s desperate for some semblance of predictability, something sustainable he can rely on.

Not that this realization makes it any easier for Toby to swallow. “Getting tired of babysitting your best friend?”

“Just because he’s not sniffing after your ass anymore…”

“Maybe he’ll try to take out all that pent up sexual aggression on you.”

“Jesus Christ, even apart you two are messing with my head.”

Toby runs his hands through his hair and pulls his chair to the corner of the table, closer to O’Reily. “It’s not exactly a walk in the park for me. Until I can clear my head, get it right, I think it’s best if I—,”

“Because that won’t be suspicious. Have you forgotten who we’re dealing with? The further you stay away, the more he concocts some bullshit story to believe in. But you get too close and all hell breaks loose.”

“So what exactly are you saying? Can you get to something resembling a point?”

“He doesn’t hate you. And he’s not indifferent. Just do what you were doing…before you fucking jumped the gun.”

“Sitting like an asshole on the sidelines?”

O’Reily smiles. “If the hole fits.”

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
Chris eyes Toby like a shark contemplating his next kill. Any progress that may have been made in terms of physical boundaries prior to the ill-timed kiss has been undone and Toby walks on eggshells, careful not to further the damage.

In all fairness, O’Reily attempts to include him and it takes a strong effort for Toby to follow suit, offering up observational retorts rather than pretending to ignore them while being absolutely aware of whether Chris is paying attention to him or not.

_Where does the love go?_

For the most part Chris keeps his comments directed at O’Reily, but as the days pass his pointed words are aimed squarely at Toby. In a passive-aggressive bid, Toby brings up how he would die for his family, going down with a fight, that his kids are the means to his life and survival in this place. He mentions Genevieve and how, despite not being the husband he could have been (nor the father he should have been to his kids), he had loved her, had meant the vows they took and the promises made before family and God.

Chris gives him a strange look.

Toby doesn’t blink; eventually re-reading the letter recently arrived from Holly.

  
******** **** ********** ********** *********** ************

  
Maybe it’s a twist of fate or a coincidence, an act of God or Sister Pete is trying to prove a malicious yet important point. If there is a purpose to everything, then the lesson couldn’t be clearer.

For the last couple of weeks Toby’s end time working with Sister Pete has overlapped with the start of Chris’ sessions with her. Usually she’s there monitoring the peace and symbolic changing of the guard from one to another consisting of little more than a nod, a glance, maybe a curt “hey” and a deliberate space of a few inches as they pass by each other. If ever the glance lingers or the greeting is softer, Toby blames his own helpless imagination.

One afternoon Sister Pete rushes off to the washroom and Toby finishes transcribing one of her dictated meetings with the board. So caught up is he in work that it isn’t until he’s slipping the headphones off that he senses someone else in the room. Turning in his chair he finds Chris in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching him—wistfully, intently. There’s no guard with him and for a brief moment Toby considers lodging a complaint about ineffectual hacks. In the next instant Toby’s heart loudly pounds the story it refuses to forget.

“She’ll be back in a few minutes,” Toby says as he turns off the computer.

“She leaves you alone in here?” Chris steps inside the room, but stays between Toby and the door.

Toby stands up and looks quickly at her desk. “On occasion. Despite stories to the contrary, I’m one of her least concerns.”

“And me?”

“With your history of violence and con work, you’re lucky she doesn’t handcuff you to the chair.”

Chris snorts, his smile brightening his entire face, even if only for a moment. “I think you let yourself off the hook too easily.”

Toby thinks that over. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that observation before. Quite the opposite in fact.”

Chris takes another step closer. Never breaking eye contact, he wraps his left hand around the top of the chair in front of Sister Pete’s desk. “She ever tell you about our sessions?”

Surprised, Toby shakes his head. “No. She’s…you can trust her.”

“That’s not something I do easily.”

“I know.”

Chris furrows his brow at Toby’s fast reply. “She says I can trust you.”

Taken aback, Toby says, “She’s probably trying to stop you from wanting to kill me.”

Again, Chris looks like something serious is taking over his thoughts. Toby begins to say something, but figures it might be best to leave things as is. After all, this is a rare moment when things are going pretty well between them and at this point Toby will take the glimmer of anything positive. Having Chris grin at him again rushes a wave of euphoria through him.

“I—uh—should probably go.”

Chris says nothing.

Toby takes a deep breath and moves forward. Trying to keep the mood light, he jokes, “Don’t steal the stapler. It’s not as productive a weapon as you might think and she’ll definitely notice it’s missing.”

Chris steps in front of him, blocking his exit. Staring into familiar blue eyes which once cared for him and put him on edge, Toby has to battle down the natural instinct to pull Chris into his arms and breathe him in, letting himself believe that somehow it’s all going to be okay.

Chris holds his gaze, only breaking it for a second as if second guessing some tumultuous decision. “It’s a pain in the ass. I’m missing this chunk of my life that everyone seems to know about and I…” He grimaces. “It just won’t come back,” he adds tersely.

Behind angry eyes, there’s a sense of loss and Toby remembers a night when Chris asked him not to let go. He couldn’t keep his promise then, but maybe now…

Without thinking, Toby reaches up and Chris flinches. But just as Toby begins to apologetically backtrack, Chris leans forward and days, “It’s okay.”

After a brief hesitation, Toby brings his hand up to Chris’ neck, reaching behind and settling his fingers on the surgical scar; lightly rubbing the roughed up skin. Chris bows slightly under the touch.

“Chris,” Toby says softly.

“It wasn’t nothing.” Chris isn’t making a statement, he’s asking a question.

Toby steps closer so they’re nearly chest-to-chest. “No,” he admits quietly.

Chris takes hold of Toby’s forearm, however he doesn’t push him away. Instead he holds on strongly.

Toby’s mind splits into a million pieces, those telling him what he should do, others telling him to do what he wants. In this moment he is the closest to what was and what could still be; he’s standing precariously on a razor’s edge, wanting so much to throw cautionary reason to the wind. To an extent that it’s saved him, it’s also placed obstacles in front of him that are hard to surmount. Yet each time, with each spin of fortune’s wheel, he comes back to this. Toby tilts his chin up and pushes against the back of Chris’ neck, moving them closer together—

“Gentlemen.”

The moment snaps in half. Both men step away from each other. Toby closes his eyes in resignation as he feels Chris withdraw further. When he opens his eyes he sees Chris rubbing the back of his neck nonchalantly, looking as if nothing more than a simple conversation about baseball has been interrupted. Toby meets Sister Pete’s piercing stare and walks by her to find Murphy waiting in the hall to take him back to Em City.

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
Then it’s the little things.

Chris takes to sitting behind Toby when he’s watching television. Partway through whatever program happens to be on, he leans forward and either lets loose a few jokes (designed to make Toby laugh or roll his eyes and reply in same) or he asks questions (legal ones if they’re watching the news about a big court case) as if trying to gain professional insight into the happenings.

Finding himself in Chris’ sights again is further hit home during count. With everyone standing outside their pods (looking put out by the nuisance of it all), Toby can’t help but notice Chris watching him. A nod, one to the other and back again provides the pretense of a possible friendship, but there’s something else left unspoken.

The shower provides its own unexpected roll of the dice. Toby’s always loved taking in the sight of Chris’ naked body, the perfection of it all only made greater by how confidently Chris carried it. It’s been ages since Chris looked at him the same way and, fall aside, Toby begins second guessing the insistence of Chris’ previous lustful admiration. Yet just when Toby’s on the verge of becoming a non-believer, he catches Chris eyeing his body from head to toe; his stare covetous.

On their own these things can be as big or as small as Toby makes them. All together, however, the story is changing direction; a page is being turned.

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
One afternoon Toby is reading a book outside his pod. Truth be told he’s been reading the same page over and over, unable to ignore the tense argument Chris and O’Reily appear to be having in their pod. Eventually O’Reily slams open the door and nods at Toby. “If I’d known he was going to be so high maintenance.”

Toby eyes him curiously.

O’Reily heads for the stairs. “I gotta go for my kitchen shift. Make sure he doesn’t poach my shit.”

Toby watches him go then closes his book and heads to his pod, picking up what he hopes will be the calm to a brewing storm. In the doorway of O’Reily’s pod, he waits until Chris looks up from rummaging through his toiletries.

“Chess?” Toby holds up the folded board and bag of pieces.

Chris stares at him so long that Toby begins to leave when he hears Chris say, “Sure.”

Setting up the chessboard turns into a strangely amusing task. It’s as if the pod has shrunk in size. Toby finds himself bumping into Chris constantly as they move things around to set up the board on an overturned box in the middle of the room. By the time they’re getting the pieces ready, (pouring the black and white ones out of the small plastic bag and cleaning up the pile, passing them back and forth) they’re touching each other more often than not. If Toby hadn’t thought of his fingers as an erogenous zone before, now he’s overwhelmed by the electric heat that shoots through his body each time Chris’ fingers graze his.

All the same it would be written off as the teasing play of an overactive imagination if not for the tiny glances they keep shooting each other and the subtle tug of a smile threatening to overtake Chris’ lips. Toby wonders if he’s being played, seduced or courted—and if semantics really matter in the end.

The first game runs smoothly and Toby finds the concentration meditative. The second game is when the distractions set in as Chris beings making his presence all the more pronounced by moving around in his seat, exaggeratingly pursing his lips over a move, and overextending his arm when shifting a chess piece.

“Stop trying to break my concentration,” Toby mutters, never looking away from the board.

“Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Toby risks a look and sees Chris feign confusion with the barest trace of a telltale smirk. Chris reclines, presenting his body in a languid fashion. Toby’s stomach knots. This is far too much like one of their old flirtatious banters and with the context off the mark, Toby feels out of his element. A nervousness he hasn’t been burdened with in quite some time tests his resolve.

Chris, ever able to read the intricacies of a room, must recognize the uncertainty written on Toby’s face because he wipes the know-it-all look away and sits up straight, with purpose. “Toby.”

 _No_. It’s _too_ much like before and Toby doesn’t think he can handle that right now. In an instant of time the past and present are colliding head on, but only he can see it.

“I should…” Toby stands up, but Chris matches his movement and together they accidentally knock the chessboard to the floor, scattering the pieces.

Toby is momentarily distracted by the mess. “…clean that up.”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish the nonsensical thought when Chris strong arms him back a few steps. Chris’ overpowering scent fills every one of Toby’s breaths and his being, looming strong and larger than life, pulls Toby in. Eyefucking each other aside, there’s no time to think as Chris claims any remaining empty space.

The kiss is hard and absolute. There’s no hesitation in the execution, no excuse in the taking. There’s enough force to knock Toby back on his heels and Chris’ arm snaked around his waist is the only thing that keeps him from falling into the wall. While Chris’ other hand settles on Toby’s check, Toby clutches the front of Chris’ shirt (tripping his fingers along the expanse of a hard chest) then cups Chris’ neck.

Toby parts his mouth and Chris slips his tongue between his lips. The taste of him makes Toby harder than hell and he thrusts his hips forward, eliciting a mumbled groan from Chris. Time falls by the wayside. They dig their fingernails into each other yet hold steady, as if rushing the moment or allowing it to turn haphazard will taint and sully it, lower its worth and render it a dime-a-dozen memory. This is about permanence.

Toby has missed feeling this wanted. Chris used to scare him with the way he held Toby as the center point of a fixed universe. At the same time, it boosted the waning self-confidence Toby succumbed to. As important, however, Toby came to think about someone else (beyond his children, his family, those who occupied a different place in his heart) more than himself. He came to care more than he thought possible.

With Chris there’s never been a drug or alcohol induced haze to fuzzy the edges (except the one time, but that was the rock bottom which prefaced the real beginning). With Chris it’s always been crystal clear.

Chris pulls back to catch his breath. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you,” he confesses against Toby’s lips.

Taking advantage of the brief reprieve, Toby flips their positions and thumps Chris against the wall. Chris grins wickedly and Toby eyes him challengingly. A question Toby has been nearly undone by stares him down. This is his Chris, but not the one who survived numerous battles with Toby, the world intent on keeping them apart. That Chris went over the railing and never woke up. That Chris left behind a lifetime of casualties. He’s gone but not forgotten. He’s gone but pieces of him remain; the pieces Toby never stopped loving.

The grin on Chris’ face falters, transforming his expression into one of reverence. Toby slowly nudges their noses together and kisses him again, first pulling Chris’ lips between his teeth, then softening the ever deepening kiss. Chris slides one arm tighter around Toby’s back and cards Toby’s hair with his fingers.

A loud rap on the plexiglass forces them foot apart.

“My being unsurprised by this turn of events does not mean I’m happy about it.” Murphy looks unimpressed in the doorway. “Why don’t the two of you come out here and watch some tv.”

Toby says nothing as he takes deep breaths to calm his panicked heart and raging hard on. Chris is a mix of pleasure and wariness.

“Now!” Murphy booms and steps aside for them to exit.

Toby steals a glance at Chris and walks out. Chris doesn’t follow.

  
************ ********** ********** ********** ************

  
In the cafeteria Toby is mid-chew when he spies O’Reily eyeing his own food tray suspiciously before accepting the meal is kosher to eat.

Swallowing, Toby says, “Need I ask?”

O’Reily shakes his head. “You don’t want to know. It’s okay,” he replies and begins eating.

As busy as the cafeteria is there’s an empty space next to O’Reily for Chris who is running late from his stockroom job. A year or so earlier, Toby would have been worried about the Aryans, but with them out of the picture (due to a hand Chris doesn’t recall ever playing) the worry Toby feels is due to yesterday’s unexpected twist of events. They haven’t spoken about it and have stayed their distance (albeit with questioning looks and a certain uneasiness in their body language).

Toby glances around, the skill of knowing his surrounding (who is where, exits, politics and conflict zones) has been ingrained over the last few years, and focuses on finishing dinner. Raised voices from the dwindling food line raise a few rows of heads including Toby and O’Reily. They spy Chris, immovable and infuriatingly cocksure, exchanging strong words with one of the Latinos. O’Reily does half a turn in his seat to watch the altercation and Toby drops his fork, ready to spring forward if needed. The hacks are on it, however, and it’s broken up before anything gets out of hand.

With food finally in hand, Chris makes his way to their table. Without a word he stands at the end and stares coolly at the inmate to Toby’s right until the guy moves elsewhere. Sliding in next to Toby, and under O’Reily’s curious gaze, Chris hunches over his tray, his elbows on the table, and starts eating the chicken nuggets, bitching about Rodriguez in between bites and bumping Toby’s shoulder in the process.

Toby, all too aware of the heightened sensory overload, drifts his gaze from Chris’ flexed arms over to O’Reily who is looking between them with a wry smile.

One action, deliberately carried out, speaks volumes and this is one meant for everyone’s eyes.

For months Toby has walked the line between worlds. He’s been a ghost hovering between, seeking a home once seemed forgotten. Years of back and forth, together and apart, constant battles of wits and will, interspersed with breathtaking desire and exhalations of peace have been thrown upside down, lingering just beyond the grasping fingertips trying to claim take backs. Those other days are now locked away in a box of memories and keepsakes. The old is new again and familiarity slips into place. Everything returns to where it belongs.

By choice, not force, through patience not insistence; by way of time and the steadfast belief that love doesn’t just disappear, Chris is at his side once more. As it should be. The collective breath Oz has been holding is released. _This_ is something they understand. _This_ finally makes sense.

Toby smiles to himself and stares at his tray. There’s the undeniable (and welcome) pressure of Chris’ leg pressed against his own and Toby pushes back. He won’t give up touching Chris again. Chris pauses, holding still a few brief seconds, and turns his head slightly in Toby’s direction before popping the last nugget in his mouth and continues to talk to O’Reily who at least is participating in the conversation.

Toby pushes his tray away. Whether this is the biggest mistake of his life is low on his list of concerns. All roads have led here, this much he knows, and if everything unfolds for a reason it’s imperative he learns what that means and gives a (small) part of himself over to it. Second chances come in the unlikeliest of ways. Sister Pete will be disappointed, but maybe more hopeful this time. Angus, the kids, they’re part of a life Toby can only have a taste of while in Oz, and (eventually) outside they reside in a special place in his heart and mind. His soul is all Chris. That’s the reality Toby will never escape.

Chris knocks his shoulder. “Ain’t that right, Toby?”

Snapped back to attention, Toby furrows his brow.

O’Reily scoffs. “Yeah, I can see that,” he remarks to Chris and gets up, heading back to the kitchen.

Toby watches him go. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” Chris mumbles, but meeting Toby’s curious eyes, he repeats the dismissal more emphatically.

Toby pauses then gets up to leave. Chris stands up and grabs his wrist. Toby looks at the hold of Chris’ curved fingers wrapped around him, recognizes the conflict laced within, as natural to them as breathing, the core of their existence. After a few seconds, Chris lets go.

Toby grasps Chris’ bicep and squeezes affectionately. “I’ll see you after I’m done with Sister Pete.”

Chris regards him thoughtfully and a half grin appears.

It’s a start, a beginning set somewhere in the middle, a story opened to an unfinished chapter. There’s no need to turn back. Everything Toby needs to know lies ahead. This time around he’s wiser, but Chris remains unpredictable. It’s a balance of absolutes.

In turn, they are the walking contradiction, the improbable made true.

Love in hell.


End file.
